Kifflom
by avalise
Summary: "Wait, so let me get this straight—" Trevor starts, leaning back against Michael's kitchen counter, "you ran your fat ass around in the desert for five miles? FIVE fucking miles? In some ridiculous outfit, no less?"


So, I went through and did all of the Epsilon missions with Michael and boy are they ridiculous. Lmao. The thought of Trevor finding out about Michael doing these absurd tasks is too good not to write anything so this poured out of me. Light Trikey, but lots of general bickering between our two grumpy old men more than anything. I love writing their dialogue. 3

This takes place in the main GTA V storyline right before the mission where Trevor kidnaps Mrs. Madrazo and winds up hiding in the desert with Michael. The two are hanging out at Michael's house on a regular night. If you like, please let me know. This was fun, so if there's interest, I can post some more GTA V fic on here.

Hope you enjoy and if you read, thank you!

xx

**Kifflom**

"Wait, so let me get this straight—" Trevor starts, leaning back against Michael's kitchen counter, "you ran your fat ass around in the desert for five miles? FIVE fucking miles? In some ridiculous outfit, no less?"

Michael already regrets sharing what he's been up to the past two weeks. He's not sure what reaction he expected, or why he shared in the first place, or why Trevor decided to just drop in, or—FUCK, he shouldn't have brought it up, "Why are you so focused on that part of the story? I just said that I pulled $2 mill from a job."

"A job. Running around in the desert is considered a job now? My GOD, how the mighty have fallen."

Michael rolls his eyes and knocks back the rest of his whiskey. Being the seasoned alcoholic that he is, he doesn't feel the burn anymore. He places the glass down on the countertop, louder than needed, "What's with all the questions? You, of all people, are ignoring the fact that I pulled $2 mill off this score. Since when do you have fuckin' standards on how to steal money?"

Trevor pushes himself off the counter, and begins to pace back and forth, talking with his hands as Michael eyes him, "You wore a stupid costume for 10 days straight – which, by the way, I'm insulted you didn't call me so I could witness THAT train wreck – then ran your ass around the smoldering desert for five miles. Excuse me for having some questions, Mikey. Physical activity ain't exactly your usual M.O."

Michael stares at Trevor, face unamused and jaw tight, "First of all, fuck you. I'm still in better shape than your speed-riddled ass." Trevor barks a laugh, "And second of all, I knew those freaks at Epsilon were full of shit, if that's what you're getting at. I was just playing along to see what the take was."

"Why not just break into their headquarters if there was a big score? We could've planned something with Lester that would've involved less cardio and specifications on wardrobe. None of this makes any sense."

Michael exhales and turns around to the open bottle of whiskey. He pours himself another double and Trevor wordlessly holds out his own glass. Michael fills it, "Listen, I know why you're fuckin' prodding but it's not true. Like I said, I always knew they were full of shit, okay?"

"I knew it!" Trevor suddenly yells. He downs his glass with a wide grin and lets out an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, arms wide, "You WERE into their bullshit theories. At least, had to have been at first. There's no way you would've gone through all this horseshit when you clearly don't need the money." He shakes his head, "Oh Mikey, I didn't think my opinion of you could sink any lower."

Michael's brow furrows, "$2 million is $2 million. And did you not just hear what I fuckin' said? I said I always knew they were full of shit."

"But you didn't know about the take when you started being their little errand boy."

"I figured they had something worthwhile. It was obvious they were loaded. All the celebrities that eat their shit up and all the money they were asking from me?"

"And you gave it to them."

"Yeah, T. I gave them money."

"So you could steal it back."

"So I could steal it back."

Trevor is quiet for a few beats, looking almost through Michael. His eyes are low, playful, and then he smiles, "Bull. Shit."

Michael just about snaps, but stops himself. He doesn't have to prove anything to Trevor. He's got an extra $2 million in the bank, and he stole it from a bunch of weirdos, that's all that matters, "Ya know what? Forget it." He grabs the bottle of whiskey by the neck and walks towards his living room, Trevor close on his heels and practically skipping.

"Oh come on, Mikey! Tell me about your path to enlightenment! Tell me more about the hole you tried to fill during this mid-life crisis of yours by turning to the Baby Blue Soldiers of the Soul."

Michael drops onto the couch like he's bringing the weight of the world with him and goes for another refill of whiskey in his glass, "Drop it, T."

Trevor mockingly drops down next to him, legs kicked out wide. He holds out his empty glass for Michael to refill, and Michael obliges, "You really are pathetic, M. Again, how the hell did you get by without me these past ten years?"

"And you're a maniac, what else is new? And I've been just fine, thanks."

"No, you're not. You're wasting away out here! And of course, you chose Vinewood of all places, you movie dreamland fuck. You could've picked any place, yet you chose to rot away in your precious cinema graveyard."

"Thanks for coming over, really. It's great to have someone else fill in for my fucking family to berate me."

Trevor sinks back into the couch, matching Michael's lazy and buzzed posture. Their shoulders are pressed lightly together. Despite the bickering, it's comfortable. Too easy to fall back into how simple things used to be. Trevor feels light and 15 years younger.

Michael exhales and runs his hand over his face, followed by yet another finished glass of whiskey. Trevor watches him swallow and immediately finishes his own, taking cues from how quickly Michael is drinking and having no problem making this more about speed than endurance.

Michael pours himself another drink and holds the bottle out to pour another for Trevor before Trevor even has his glass steady for the refill. He pours both glasses almost to the brim this time.

"Maybe you're right," Michael starts, his defenses crumbling a bit, "I mean, I knew it was bullshit. I did. But I don't know, man. You see a group of people, working together and talking about peace and happiness and they did – they seemed peaceful and happy, and they were a team. Even though, believe me, some of the shit that came out of their mouths was fuckin' crazy. I've been in therapy for so goddamn long and that shit clearly ain't working. Maybe I had a split second of hope this could take some fucking weight off my shoulders." His eyes dart to Trevor and then away, "Only a fuckin' split second. Let's remember the fact that I did take a score from their overall circus."

Trevor opens his mouth to continue busting Michael's pathetic balls but he pauses. This is the first time Michael's opened up since he's seen him and it's nice to get some honesty out of the one and only Michael Townley, or whatever the fuck his name is, for once. So, Trevor decides to keep quiet and listen.

"I don't know, man. Back then, I just thought if I got out of the game, things would be better for me and for my family. But…goddammit, FUCK. Things are better for them, sure, they're safer, but I'm just bored and still unhappy." He rubs the back of his neck, hesitating a bit, the alcohol giving him the courage for truth, "You're right, I am wasting away out here. I've been trying to do everything right this past decade and I'm fucking empty. But why am I only satisfied with life when I'm only back _in_ the life?"

Their shoulders stay glued and Trevor turns his head to actually look at Michael, who's eyes are forward, gazing at the floor as he spouts his depressing shit. It's the closest they've been in years and when Michel turns and their eyes meet, a familiarity washes over Trevor that a giddiness sprouts in the pit of his stomach. There's an age in Michael that's so apparent this close but it's still Michael. The Michael he mourned for years and the one that abandoned him because he thought he knew better. Mikey always thought he was smarter than Trevor. And now, he was in a cult for a hot minute.

Trevor holds back a laugh and pushes away memories of heartbreak and tombstones.

Trevor keeps his eyes on him though, happy to continue the discussion of Michael's current mental health. Even this close, Trevor misses him. He would never admit that out loud, but deep down, it's palpable, with them literally pressed against one another. So, he'll take whatever comradery he can get, even if it is an invitation to Michael's pity party.

Trevor's voice lowers and he's sincere, "Because that's how we are, Mikey," he says, and pinches Michael's cheek before he's batted away. He continues, "The life is where we're content and alive. That's how we've always been. I don't know why you always tried to pretend like we weren't. Like we ARE. Your self hatred is extreme, man. You need to accept your instincts. Look at me—I don't have to lie about who I am and I'm happy as a peacock. If people don't like what I do, fuck 'em. You're a killer and a criminal and guess what? You like it. It's the truth, and for fucking once, will you just embrace it and quit whining about it?"

Michael keeps their eyes locked and he knows that Trevor is right. He fucking knows it. But at the same time, he feels utter and complete shame slither through his entire body. He shouldn't enjoy robbing people, hurting whomever gets in his way. That's not what a good person does. And God, he can't continue going through life constantly feeling like a bad guy. He always thought of himself as the good guy, until his actions slap him in the face and his cycle of shame starts all over again.

Trevor's ability to be who he is, flaws and all, is something Michael has always admired about him. Admittedly, one of the very few qualities to admire in such a dangerous personality but a trait Michael respects, nonetheless. Because, Michael will never experience that pure and unbridled freedom no matter how many therapy sessions or cult fees wind up on his bank statements.

Trevor continues, looking away for only a split second before his eyes magnetize back to Michael's, "And the fact that you are so low that you went to a fucking cult for answers is just downright pathetic. You're lucky I'm back in the picture to save you from yourself." It's not malicious, despite the insult. And Trevor's eyes are bright, hopeful for the future now that his miserable running buddy is back in his life.

Somehow, it's comforting for Michael, too. He's not sure why. Maybe it's the brutal honesty and Trevor's usual badgering that helps him relax. It feels bizarrely normal.

He doesn't say anything.

Trevor nudges him, "Cheer up, buttercup. Life ain't that bad."

Michael just takes another sip of his whiskey and they sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Trevor is on his feet so fast that the sudden movement is the first thing that helps Michael realize he's really feeling the whiskey.

Trevor runs out of the room and Michael hears footsteps bolting up the staircase. He looks around, confused, "The fuck?" He waits, unsure whatever the hell the sudden urgency is. "Trevor!" He yells, and when there's no response, he's immediately nervous. Trevor left to his own devices in Michael's home isn't exactly comforting.

He downs his glass and jogs upstairs, "Trevor!"

His bedroom door is shut, and of course, locked. Panic fills Michael with thoughts of only God knows what Trevor is doing in there, "Trevor! Open the goddamn door!"

"Juuuuust a second! Can't a guy get some privacy?"

Michael shakes the handle vigorously and mumbles a loud "Fuck" before backing away. He could break down his own bedroom door but decides against it. What could Trevor really get up to in there, anyway? Ruin one of his good suits? Find Amanda's vibrator? There are worse situations Trevor could be in.

So, he waits. Fully annoyed, but he waits.

After an agonizing minute, the door swings open and Trevor is posing with his hands on his hips, the biggest smile on his face. And of course, he's dressed in Michael's Epsilon robes, "Little big on my lithe frame, but what do you think, Mikey? Does this shade bring out the light in my soul? Do I look like I can be SAVED?"

Michael rolls his eyes but can't help the smirk that tugs at his lips, "Ha ha, very funny. Now take that shit off."

"How forward of you!" Trevor smooths the robes out over his chest and does a twirl, "These are comfy. Smells a bit from your fat ass in them for so long, but comfy, nonetheless."

"You're one to talk about stench."

"Listen, I want to thank you for sharing this with me, really." He walks towards Michael and slings a baby blue arm over his buddy's shoulders. Michael follows along as they make their way downstairs, tucked close, "Whenever I have a bad day, I can just think of you in this ridiculous outfit, sweating like a pig out in the blistering desert heat searching for spiritual guidance."

Michael shoves him off when they're at the bottom of the staircase.

As Michael turns back to attend to the whiskey in the living room, Trevor grabs his arm so they are face to face, "What was it you had to say?"

Michael lowly chuckles and shakes his head at the sight of Trevor still in these robes. For some reason, they look more perverse on Trevor, "What the hell are you talking about?

"Don't all cults have some goofy tagline?"

Michael full blown smiles this time, the sight before him and Trevor's general amusement finally have him feeling like he can laugh at himself about this ridiculous predicament that he got into. At least, a little bit, "Kifflom."

Trevor barks a laugh, his smile so wide there's more crinkles around his eyes than usual, "Kifflom?"

Michael's smile doesn't fade. He puts a palm up and says it again, just as he did when he was running around with Epsilon, "Kifflom."

Trevor can't stop laughing and he mimics Michael's movement, "Kifflom!"

Michael shakes his head and makes his way towards the living room. Trevor disrobes in the foyer down to his tighty-whities and they spend the rest of the night speed drinking whiskey before passing out at 11pm.

xx

Thank you for reading! :)


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